More
by Anne Bowman
Summary: Jack loves someone he shouldn't. *complete*
1. chapter 1

AN: What? No Molly? No Carey? I'm as shocked as you are. I don't own anyone from the show, of course, and I don't own the song "I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone" by Sleater-Kinney, either. I can't really explain why I wrote this... 

_it's fine   
when it's all mine  
it's on my wall it's in my head  
memorize it till I'm dead  
it's yours   
now I'm so bored_

I want out. I really don't care where I end up--anywhere, with anyone, just as long as no one expects anything of me. Just once I want to be the one who gets to freak out. I want to be the one who gets to have a crusade. Do you have any idea how tiring it is to be the one waiting patiently at home, the one who calmly offers the logical explanation, the one who never breaks? As much as I hate to think about it, I know this role I play is entirely his fault. First I became Mom's support by default, and then Fi had to go and pick up right where he left off, trying so hard to get herself killed every five seconds with her insane theories. And I have to save them both daily. Well, it's over. I just can't deal with any of this anymore.

yeah, yeah, _yeah, yeah  
I wanna be your Joey Ramone  
pictures of me on your bedroom door  
invite you back after the show  
I'm the queen of rock and roll_

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be in love with someone even though you know that person has absolutely no clue about the person you really are because you've never been able to show them the truth about you? Well, it's very difficult. Because then your love becomes completely unrequited. It was probably unrequited before, too, but this way, it absolutely has to be. There's no potential for happiness. It's completely one-sided. How could it be anything else? The object of your love can't love you, and if they think they do, which is possible but unlikely in my case, they can't love you, just what they know of you. Does that make sense? 

_I just don't care  
are you that scared?  
I swear they're looking right at me  
push to the front so I can see  
it's what I thought   
it's rock and roll_

I want to go wild. I know it sounds strange. But it's all I want to do right now. I want to wake up in the morning and not step out of Jack and into the role they all expect me to play, the person they think I am. I want them all to know me for the first time since before he died. I want to be who I am. And it's not just about letting the person I love know that I love them-that would be hard enough even without all of this other stuff. It's about wanting to smash this persona into pieces and never ever put them back together again. When that weird guy gave me the camera a few months ago, that was the closest I've ever come to feeling the way I wish I could feel all the time. But the camera's wrapped up in a box in my closet now, because who has time for real dreams when you're so busy helping others avoid self-destruction? But maybe that's not even what I wanted. How should I know what's true and what's simply convenient?

_yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah  
I wanna be your Thurston Moore  
wrestle on your bedroom floor  
always leave you wanting more  
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah  
throw away those old records_

I remember the first time the idea of how easy it would be to just run away from everything came to me. Fi was majorly upset about finding out from John that Dad was into the paranormal and Mom hadn't told her. Mom was majorly upset that Fi had found out from John that Dad was into the paranormal and had stopped speaking to her altogether. And I was in the middle. One would come in and confess, then the other, and back and forth and back and forth. What would you do, Jack? What should I do, Jack? Does she hate me? How could she not tell me? On and on and on for days! In the rare moments of peace between their visits I began to formulate a plan--a plan I never acted on, of course, because I never act on anything. So I stayed, and I pretended to care, and I pretended to be happy for them when they resolved the issue, as resolved as it could be, anyway. But all the time I was thinking about how wonderful it was that freedom was within my grasp, which was an idea I'd never really considered before.

_we go downtown  
put on your best frown  
give me a chance  
I know I can dance_

And then it happened. One day, between all of my fiendish secret plotting and pretending, you caught my eye. I'd seen you every day for so long, but suddenly it was completely different. I started noticing things about you that I hadn't noticed before. I went out of my way to be alone with you so we could talk more often and more confidentially. I abandoned my plans for escape and focused my attention instead on you. In a way, you probably saved me from myself back then. But then I realized, finally, that it would be impossible for anything to ever happen between us. For one thing, I could never be honest with you because I can't be honest with myself. And for another, you would never look at me the way I found myself looking at you now. 

_yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah  
I wanna be your Joey Ramone  
pictures of me on your bedroom door  
invite you back after the show  
I'm the queen of rock and roll_

So here I am. My bag is finally packed. I have plans. I have reservations. And all I really want to do is stay. For you, for them, for me. But I can't stay. I can't stand the idea of letting them down by turning out to be a liar. I can't stand the idea of loving you every day and never being able to tell you. So I'm going now. I know this won't make any sense. I know you'll be surprised. I know they'll be disappointed too, but at least this way I won't have to watch it happen. And maybe one day I'll be back. But it's time now for me to go out there and find out who I am away from them and away from you, my lovely distraction. So, do me a favor, okay? Tell them I love them. I love you, too.

_it's fine  
'cause it's all mine..._


	2. chapter 2

AN: I should clarify two things: one, this chapter and all future even-numbered chapters are from the point of view of the object of Jack's affection, and two, this story takes place in an alternate universe where mentions of Gabe only bring blank stares and the question, "Gabe who?" The song is "No One," by Cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_well I can't ever really believe   
no one was sent to get me   
and I feel like I'm being erased   
no one got left here   
I'm all alone, no one was sent to get me   
I'm all alone, no one got left here _

Did you think it would be easier if you just left? Why else would you have gone like that in the middle of the night, why else would you have left without telling me what I needed to hear from you? I'm sorry, I didn't relay your message to your family like you asked. What was I supposed to say? "He told me to tell you this in that letter he left for me that I can never actually tell you about." I don't know what you could have been thinking when you decided to leave. I'd like to think that it's just something you have to do. I'd like to think that you'll be back soon. 

_but I'm fine   
no one got left here   
well I'm fine   
(if it's fine then stay)  
no one got left here_

Did you think I didn't know? Did you think I was oblivious? Did it even matter to you whether or not I felt that way too? I know. You're right. It can't really happen. But what we had--wasn't that special enough in its own right? You said I couldn't know you the way you wanted to be known. I think you're wrong about that. I think I know you and the person you are or want to be beyond who you have to be for the rest of them. You never even had to come out and say what you felt. I knew all along. If you had said it I would have had to be the responsible one. I would have had to tell you all the reasons we could never be more than what we are to each other. Something tells me you would have found a way to convince me otherwise.

_I can't even breathe when I see   
the pictures sent without you   
I feel like I'm being erased   
no one got left here   
I'm all alone, no one was sent to get me   
I'm all alone, no one got left here _

So now I'm sitting here alone in the middle of the night thinking about someone I shouldn't be sitting up alone in the middle of the night thinking about. I'm worried. We all are. But I can't show my concern the way the others can. I can be concerned for them, maybe, but to display my true feelings would make my motives appear suspicious. Maybe my motives are suspicious. Maybe I should just take a couple of sleeping pills and close my eyes until you come back and everything is the way it used to be. Can anything ever be the way it used to be? 

_but I'm fine   
no one got left here   
well I'm fine   
(if it's fine then stay)  
no one got left_

I want you to come back. That's all I want. I can't imagine where you've gone or who you're with, and it doesn't matter. I miss our stolen moments. I miss casual conversation tinged with hints of deeper feelings. Maybe it was all a game. Maybe that's all it has to be. Whatever it was or is, I miss it. I miss you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be nonchalant? To pretend I don't know why on earth you ever would have left your oh-so-happy home? To pretend that I don't miss you any more than the rest of them do, or more than I should? Do you know how difficult it is to keep from telling them I know exactly why you left and, more than that, I seem to be part of the reason?

_I'm so sick of this terrible instinct  
it's so hard now just to find you  
I'm so sick of this terrible instinct  
it's so hard now just to find you_

I remember the first time I really noticed you noticing me. It's funny how you can be so close to someone in terms of proximity for so long, but know so little about them on a personal, real level. When I started finding myself alone with you more often, I was surprised at how readily you opened up about almost anything to someone you hardly knew anything about beyond the obvious surface information. Maybe I opened up to you a little more than I should have, too. If I hadn't, maybe you would never have gotten the idea that something more could be possible. That is the idea you have, isn't it? Isn't that the idea you're fighting so hard that you had to run away? Of course it's everything else--it's your family and your anger and your frustration--but I have to believe I played a part in your untimely departure, and maybe that's why I can't sleep.

_I'm so sick of this terrible instinct  
I can only find you  
I'm so sick of this terrible instinct  
I can only find you_

I could go upstairs now and turn out the light and climb into bed and wait for the next day to begin like I just don't care. I could smile tomorrow and pretend I'm not angry with every single one of them for the reactions I imagine they would have to the information I can't share. It's probably not fair of me to hate them for what they haven't done, for what I just think they would do. I mean, I do know that the potential repercussions of one false move right now would echo through the lives of every single person we know. So I'll let you go. I'll stop trying to reach out tonight and make this all stop. And tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after that, I guess I'll just keep smiling and pretending. I hope that wherever you are, you can hear this or feel it or I don't know--I don't really believe in that kind of thing, do I? Neither do you. But I'll believe in it just for tonight if it gets the job done. 

You left because it felt like bravery. I stay and I stay silent and right now that feels like bravery to me.

_well it's fine  
no one got left here  
well I'm fine  
no one got left here_


	3. chapter 3

AN: The song is "Waco Lake," by The Nields. 

_watch my heart break by Waco Lake  
I try to make my mind up  
for Heaven's sake_

In retrospect, the amount of time I was away is virtually nothing compared against the rest of the life I've lived and the life I've yet to live. But the journey might as well have taken up a third or half of my time on Earth, because that's how it felt as I traveled from town to town, from one friendly home-away-from-home to another. Some people like to say the journey is the destination. Obviously, these people have never taken a journey more complicated than driving to the supermarket, because in my experience, when you embark upon a journey, particularly one as spontaneous as mine, you are often attempting to escape the destination to which you inevitably return. I guess that's why I'm back now. I haven't really learned anything, and I've found certainly none of what I told you I wanted to find. The one thing I have done is finally chosen a direction: I want to be a writer. So cliché, isn't it? But there it is. And perhaps with that decision, a clearer sense of identity beyond that of Molly Phillips's only son or that crazy girl's brother will also develop. At least, I hope so.

_so take me to the fire  
where I'll burn my poor heart down  
and do me a favor, won't you call John the Baptist  
tell him I'll be there soon if I make it back to town_

I kept in touch with everyone, it seems, but you. Was that my fault, or yours? I guess I was avoiding you as much as you were avoiding me. I probably shouldn't have written you that night, but I just felt like I had to say those things even if I couldn't stand the thought of your reaction to them. I tried to find something out there, anyone at all who might fill the space you occupy in my head. There was nothing. I'm not sure if that means I've fallen in love for the first time-great material for my book, I guess-or if it just means that the life of a writer is always lonely because it's so much easier to write what is felt than to speak it. I could never, for example, have actually said the things I told you that night. I wonder what you did with the letter. Did you burn it? Did you toss it in a drawer where it's long forgotten now? Did you fold it into tiny squares and hide it among your private things, and do you occasionally pull it out and re-read it to be sure that it says what it does? I'm probably just flattering myself, aren't I? You probably just read it and smiled at my utter foolishness and then discarded it, right? 

_my upbringing was full of things  
just keep us safe and happy   
till your kingdom comes_

Because it meant nothing. I'm ready for that. I'm ready for things to be awkward between us for a while until I apologize and you tell me gently that you're sorry too that you just don't feel it, which of course I already knew because how could you? It doesn't matter now. You've given me more than you realize, and that's probably enough. And, you know, I'm ready to see them again too. Maybe things will be different. Maybe they won't. Maybe I'll still be the silent partner. Maybe I'll still be the only source of calmness in that perpetually stormy house. I don't care. I'm ready. I'm different. But more important, I see that I don't need to be different. I clawed my way out of this box and I've seen the world now, I've taken risks and made my own choices, I've tasted freedom. And I know it'll always be out there, waiting for me. But right now, I just want things to be the way they were. Just for a little while.

_it doesn't matter what I do 'cause I'm burning either way  
it doesn't matter 'cause I saw my lover with another yesterday  
I must return  
I watch my home inferno and know he's holding her_

Imagine my surprise when you were already there when I walked in tonight. You looked trapped, like you'd rather be anywhere else, and all those thoughts I had before about being ready for that kind of reaction just disappeared. I forced happiness for the rest of them and I tried to forget about you as we gritted our teeth and smiled at each other as expected. After the initial shock and dismay were over, I noticed that you really haven't changed at all. Have I? I can't tell. I'm two years older now, not much wiser, a little weathered maybe but not much. I wonder if you could ever reconsider me, or if it's even worth wondering about anyway. Maybe I should just leave you to your life. You have no idea how hard it hit me to see the two of you together again. It's not like I'm not used to that--it's even part of why I left in the first place, but somehow I just thought things might be different when I came back. I guess I'm still naïve.

_so take me to the fire  
where I'll burn my poor heart down  
and do me a favor, won't you call John the Baptist   
tell him I'll be there soon, if I make it back to town_

"It doesn't matter." That's the only thought that brings me comfort--as deceptive a feeling as it might be--now that the house is quiet, and you're long gone. Everyone else just seemed relieved that I was back and order was returned to our little lives. Sometimes I wonder if any of this would have happened if we weren't so close to each other all the time. It's almost depressing, isn't it? Some of us might get up the courage to stray, but we must always return, and nothing ever changes. But I do live here, and I am one of you, so in a way I feel relieved to be home, too. Now if I could only figure out what to do about you...


	4. chapter 4

AN: The song is "In the Name of Love" and it's by Mary Chapin Carpenter.

_it's the spell that can't be broken  
it's your breath upon my neck  
it's the words I long to tell you  
but haven't yet_

It's my first sleepless night since right after you left. The sun is coming up and I'm trying to hold on to the time I have left to consider this alone. In an hour or two they'll start rising and offer a pleasant break from all of this. That doesn't mean I'm not glad you're back. I hope that isn't the impression you have now. And it wasn't that I was surprised to see you tonight; on the contrary, I knew you'd be there, and I tried to think fo a thousand excuses not to go but somehow I couldn't even come up with one. Because I knew it would be the way it was. I knew I'd catch myself staring, wondering, trying to absorb everything new about you and trying to figure out if you had found what you were looking for away from here.

_it's the need to see you constantly  
and the need to be alone  
just to balance out what's left of me  
and what's too far gone_

You have changed, you know. You're much more confident, physically, more independent. It almost makes me sad. Not just that you're different now, but that you changed overnight, almost. I mean, a lot of things have changed around here, but somehow the distance between the night you left and the night of your return seems no longer than a few minutes or hours now. And part of me really wishes that I'd been around to witness the transformation from the old Jack into the new Jack instead of being forced to get to know this new person all over again.

_but what if the night complied  
bringing you to my door?  
what if I let you in?  
isn't that what the night is for?_

I could hardly speak to you tonight. I'm not even sure that I did. Maybe it was hard for you, too. I didn't really think about that at the time, but I've had plenty of time to consider it now. I wonder if anyone noticed that anything was different between us. I just wish that I could give you what you want. Saying it that way takes me out of it, doesn't it? Like I don't want what you want. Maybe it's easier that way because I haven't made up my mind about what I want yet. I know this entire thing hinges on the decision I make now. Oh, who am I kidding? Chances are you met some nice girl out there on the road who helped you forget all about the one you could never have at home. Good for you. That's the way it should be. Isn't it?

_in the name of love  
there's nothing that I would not do  
in the name of love  
I'd lose myself to find you_

You know, I was angry at you then and I'm not sure that I'm not angry at you now. I can't shake the idea that you took the coward's way out. Don't I wish I had the luxury of packing up and running away to find myself, or simply to forget about what I was leaving behind? I'm sure every unhappy person alive wishes for that opportunity. I guess you saw it and you took it and I shouldn't blame you for that, but it's hard not to place blame. I guess in a way it's better that you did. If you hadn't, who knows what might have eventually happened?

_it's the prayer I send up daily  
for some courage and some pride  
when your hand brushes my shoulder  
and our eyes collide_

It would be so easy to sleep soundly if I could just push this away, forget it, make like it never happened. And in a way, nothing ever did happen. If you hadn't written that letter the night you left, I wouldn't be sitting here now. I would have been able to assure myself two years ago that I meant nothing to you, and that is the way it really should be. But you did write it, and I kept it, and I kept it a secret from everyone, and I have pretended not to be overly concerned about your return when secretly I've been making a list of the questions I need to ask you before I can let this go forever.

_it's the smallest of seductions  
and the quietest of lures  
and I'm all at once an innocent  
in the big, bad world_

I need for you to tell me that you're over it. If you're over it, then my strange inclination to cling to some words scribbled on folded notebook paper would seem somehow pathetic, and it would be easier to let go and file this away in my memory as a simple mistaken impression. My obsession with finding out is starting to disturb me, but I'm not sure if I'm disturbed because it's slowly taking over my thoughts or if I'm disturbed about the implications of what I might find out. What if you're not over it? What do I do then? Can I really deny that once upon a time I felt it too? That in some small way, I still do?

_what if the night conspired  
bringing you to my door?  
why should I turn you away now?  
I don't want to wait anymore_

Oh, I need some sign from you tonight, right now, here in this moment before the sun comes up. I want to drive to your house and throw rocks at your window and ask you all these questions on my list. I want to go to bed and sleep for days and wake up with no memory of what once might have existed between us for such a brief moment that it's not even worth all of this now. I want to unfold your letter for the hundredth time this year and read it again, looking for some loophole, some sign that it doesn't say what I think it says. All I need is to believe that you don't feel anything like what I thought you did. Laugh at me. Lie to me. Just don't let it be true. Because if it's true, I don't have any idea where to go from there.

_in the name of love  
there's nothing that I would not do  
in the name of love  
I'd lose myself to find you_

I do know how to resolve this. First I have to find out. And then if it is true, I know what to do now. All I need is to get you alone and make you answer to this havoc you've wreaked by writing reckless letters and looking hurt when I couldn't acknowledge what you wrote two years after the fact. I'll write down my list. I'll be prepared. I just need to know. And if it is true, then this is my plan: what we should do is agree to spend only one night together. No one can ever know. And it will be a mutual acknowledgement, finally, of what we've never been able to admit. And then we will be able to relax around each other, and things can be the same as they were before. What do you think?

_but when the darkness fades  
giving way to morning light  
you will find me gone  
to carry on the lonely fight_

I never should have come up with an idea, because now it's scratching out from under my skin and I'm so restless I can't stand it. I thought it would ease my mind but it's just made me more anxious for morning to come so I can set my plan in motion. I want to scream at the sun to drag itself up, wake up the world, but the sky stubbornly remains dark. Okay, fine, I'll head upstairs and try again to sleep. Why not? My mind can race around in circles just as well lying down as sitting up. 

Wait. What the hell is that tapping noise? It can't be coming from the door. 

_in the name of love, there's nothing that I would not do  
in the name of love, I'd lose myself to follow you  
in the name of love, there's nothing that we would not do  
in the name of love, I'd lose myself_

Oh, God. Is this my sign? All right, then. Here we go.


	5. chapter 5

AN: The song is "Strange Wind" by Poe, and this is the end. (Heh, when I posted this I actually forgot I meant to clarify who it was. :) It's Irene.)

_I hear you in my head  
all of the things that you said  
I'm listening again and again  
'cause I never used to   
think of you as a friend_

"One night," she said, and what could I do but agree? "One," she said again. I guessed I should be glad she was willing to give me that much. It was much more of a risk for her than for me, and I knew that, and no matter what I felt I still didn't want to be the reason her life was completely destroyed, so I agreed. It was kind of funny, really. Here I'd always thought it must have all been in my head, it must have been a terrible mistake, and when I came over tonight I just wanted her to tell me I was right. But instead she just wrapped her arms around me for a moment and when she pulled back, I don't know, suddenly she was unlike I'd ever seen her before: vulnerable, needy, human. She started asking me all these questions and I answered the ones I could. When the interrogation was over, she presented The Plan. "One night," she said.

_now I hear it in my head  
that strange wind that cries, it wakes me up inside  
that strange wind that cries, it makes me feel alive  
to see it in your eyes  
that strange wind that cries_

It was strange to set a date, make an appointment for the only blatant acknowledgement either of us could ever make about the affliction we at least could finally admit we shared. But we did. We planned it out so carefully. Date, time, location, duration, explanations. We avoided each other entirely until that night. Mom and Fiona had gone away for a "girls weekend" that I was mercifully excluded from. "Be careful," Mom told me as they walked out the door. "Don't burn the house down." 

And then the moment of truth. I'm not going to write down what happened, reduce it into a series of sordid details, commit them to paper. Some things just deserve to be left alone in the privacy of memory. 

_yeah, I'm still here, thumbing through the book that you left  
a hundred different symbols, I always wondered what they meant  
a circle, a jagged edge, a cross holding little bits of the truth  
whatever I may be hiding  
I think that I could show it to you_

Afterward I followed her out to the porch. She reached for my hand and we stood together alone, just feeling the cold Colorado night air, comfortable, silent. Somewhere, something was burning. A tree, a house, a forest... Finally she tured to me with a small sad smile and said: "I'm a terrible person." I just shook my head. "Yes," she insisted. 

"No." 

She let go of my hand and stepped even further away. "I shouldn't have let this happen. I should have been responsible, I should have..." She started toward the porch steps, toward her car, toward escape.

"Don't go," I said so low I was surprised when she turned to look at me. I stayed quiet, pleading. She climbed back up the stairs and stood before me and asked softly: "Really?" I cleared my throat and said it again. She almost laughed. It was so strange to see her so frightened... by me, of all people. I smiled too. We went back inside.

_when I hear it in my head  
that strange wind that cries, it wakes me up inside  
that strange wind that cries, it makes me feel alive  
to see it in your eyes  
that strange wind that cries_

Later I tried not to look at the clock. I tried to imprint the moment in my mind, the darkness, silence inside and out, except for her steady breathing, cold except for the warmth of her body beside me, not touching, simply there. After a while she asked: "Where did you go?"

I told her at length about my travels, the people I had met, the cities I had explored, leaving out some details about places and people better left unmentioned, and when I was finished she was quiet for so long I thought she'd fallen asleep.

"I never had much of a chance to travel alone," she said. "I guess it's partly my own fault. By the time I was old enough, I took myself out of the running."

"Well, I'm sure it wasn't totally your fault," I tried to make it sound like a joke, but I regretted saying it immediately, because it was an unpleasant reminder of why exactly she would be leaving sooner than I wanted her to leave.

"Yeah," she admitted. "It was. It was a plan I had. It didn't have to be him. It could have been anyone. It was just time."

"You're big on plans, aren't you?"

Another long pause, then another hushed "Yeah."

_oh, I've got so much to tell you  
I've been lonely, I've been wild  
and when I see it in your eyes  
a wilder cry than even mine  
I know something's hidden inside_

We talked for hours like that, side by side, barely touching, just one of our usual grand sweeping conversations about everything in the world and nothing at all. Finally, mid-sentence, she fell asleep, and I propped up on an elbow to observe the sight I'd likely never see again, not like this. I didn't wake up until the pounding started, at which point I reluctantly opened my eyes to find the sun obnoxiously staring me in the face and her still there, long after she was supposed to be gone. I stumbled downstairs half-awake and opened the door an inch. 

"What?"

"Dude, good morning to you too," Clu said, affecting a hurt tone.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. Like, 11."

"There's no breakfast, my mom isn't here."

"And that's the only reason I ever come over?" He sounded mock-hurt again, then laughed. 

"Okay, so what is it?" I prodded.

"I just came over to ask if you'd seen--"

"No."

"Dude, you don't even know who--"

"I'm asleep, man. I haven't seen anybody or anything."

"Oh. Sorry. Well, if you see Carey, just tell him I--"

I closed the door a little more abruptly than I'd intended, leaning against it with the full force of my weight. Finally I dragged myself upstairs. She hadn't stirred. I decided not to disrupt the peace and climbed back into bed beside her, the rest of the world be damned. I woke up again later to someone gently shaking me. I was barely awake but I felt her lips on mine and her voice in my ear as she said goodbye before I drifted back out of consciousness. 

_there it is again  
that strange wind that cries  
it breaks me up sometimes  
that strange wind that cries, it makes me feel alive  
to see it in your eyes  
_  
  
Ned taught us: it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I think that's a cruel lie. Love isn't fleeting. Love offers no escape once it's ensnared you in one of its cleverly-hidden traps. Love is not a pleasant walk in a meadow on a sunny day. It's a disease that spreads through you, takes over your heart, then your body, then your mind, until it consumes you whole and there's nothing left of who you used to be. The slightest glance or the mildest touch could lead to infection. By the time she gives you the first smile you're as good as dead. 

_I hear you in my head  
all of the things that you said  
I'll be keeping all your secrets 'till the end  
'cause I'm getting used to  
thinking of you as a friend_

But I'm trying not to think of it in such poisonous terms. Maybe it's possible to cure yourself, or at least help your wounds fade. I still see her every day. We still find good reasons to be alone. She told me once and I already knew that I should move on, maybe even get out of this town for good. But I just can't bring myself to leave. A long time ago on a desert road in the middle of the night I thought I heard her ask me why what we already had wasn't fulfilling enough to satisfy me. Maybe now it finally is. 


End file.
